Friends
by Jenz127
Summary: It's Mrs Hudson's birthday, and she thinks she'll spend it alone... set after WW1 in 1920. Dedicated to VHunter07!


**For you, my dear VHunter07! Hope it makes you smile and/or go awww! **

**All usual disclaimers apply!**

**Friends**

**1920**

My, my, Mrs Hudson thought as she hobbled into her kitchen, who would have thought it? Eighty-five years old today. Well, well, that was a turn up for the books. Her mischievous grandson (living in Australia) had sent her a (rather rude, she thought) letter proclaiming that for a lady of her age, who had lived the life she had lived, she looked remarkably good for her age. Mrs Hudson had replied that due to the fact that she was 'remarkably good for her age' she would have no trouble in boxing his ears when he next ventured home. Honestly, young people these days! The war seemed to have thrown everything upside down. Indeed, the last time she had gone into London a year ago, she had seen a couple kissing…in the street! Some of the young people that Mrs Hudson met had no problem patronising her…like she had no brains at all! Huh, she thought, eyeing them in their short skirts and such, I'll wager I have more brains than you and your friends put together. I'm not the silly old lady many people suppose.

She did not mind spending her birthday alone. It was a lovely sunny day…maybe later she would go and have a nap in the front garden. That would be nice. There were a couple of cards on the kitchen table, still in their envelopes. She took them up, opening them and reading them. The first read, _To dearest grandmamma, on your 85__th__(!) birthday. Good luck for the next eighty-five years. Your beloved grandson, James. _Flipping cheek. Mrs Hudson told herself she was not amused. Although she did have to stifle the smile which made her lips twitch. The next read _To dear Mrs Hudson. Happy Birthday. G. Lestrade and family._ Heavens. He must be almost as old as she was. That was a rather comforting thought. The third, and last, read as follows, _To dearest Mrs Hudson. Many happy returns on the day. With best wishes, John Watson_ (and in another hand) _and Sherlock Holmes_.

Mrs Hudson grinned fondly at the last card as she cut herself a piece of fruit cake. She was still fond of those two boys. Well - boys might not be quite right - for both Mr Holmes and Dr Watson were well into their sixties by now. She remembered clearly the first day that they had met. She had been a relatively young widow, and they were the first set of lodgers she had ever had for 221B. They were both young - not yet in their thirties, and as different in character as was physically possible. Indeed, Mrs Hudson had believed that within the six month, she would have to be finding new lodgers. But no! Miracle of miracles, they had stayed together - the best of friends. Even when the doctor had married, he was still a very frequent visitor. Mrs Hudson had come to see her lodgers in the same light as her own children…two loveable, if sometimes naughty, little boys who needed to be taken care of. When Mr Holmes had 'died', she had felt heart-broken. She hated the feeling of having no-one upstairs, no-one making malodorous chemical experiments, or smoking, or smashing her new teapots. And when he returned…!

When Mr Holmes had retired from life in London, she had gone with him, to keep house for him for a few years, until her own advancing years had made it impossible to go on. So, she had used some of her savings to buy a little cottage, not ten miles from Mr Holmes' place, and had embarked on her retirement with gusto. Then, the war had come. Dr Watson had gone away to administer relief (despite, she was sure, being far too old to do so), and had left Holmes bereft. Although they had not lived together - Holmes in Sussex, Watson at his practice in London, they had seen each other frequently, and every time Mrs Hudson had seen Holmes since the war had started, he had seemed worried, fitful, like he had not slept in some time.

Dr Watson had come from the war unscathed. But there was no place for him in London. And so, perhaps inevitably, the cycle had began again. Mr Holmes had offered Watson the spare room…his room, Mrs Hudson had always known that the only reason Mr Holmes had got a place with a guest room was for Watson…and the poor, dear Doctor had taken it with eagerness. It was good that those two were together again, still with some cases brought to them. It was how it should be.

A knock at the door roused Mrs Hudson from her reminiscing, and she rose, and walked on unsteady legs to the door. The maid had the day off, so there was no one to answer the door but the old lady. Reaching it, she opened it, and looked out. Well, she thought, seeing the figures on the doorstep, grinning at her, I never knew I was psychic. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson stood there, both looking like two excited schoolboys. They were both still looking relatively young, and fit, although Dr Watson did lean more on his cane than he used to, and Holmes' knees had stiffened with rheumatism. "Happy Birthday, Mrs Hudson!" they chorused, and Mrs Hudson smiled as she thought of them practising in unison to get it right on the way up.

"Doctor, Mr Holmes, oh, how lovely! Will you come in?"

"No, no, no, my dear Mrs Hudson!" spoke Holmes, excitedly "You cannot spend your birthday, especially on such a wondrous day as this, inside!"

He swept into the little cottage, as Watson leaned down to peck her on the cheek. "How are you keeping, Mrs Hudson?"

"Quite well, thank you, Doctor. What is going on?"

"Ah, Mrs Hudson," said Holmes, emerging with her coat, hat and scarf. "We could not let you celebrate your birthday alone…we are going on a picnic!" He sounded so adorably young then, that Mrs Hudson had to laugh.

"Come, Mrs Hudson," said Watson, offering his arm, which she took, "Your carriage awaits!"

They walked slowly across the small garden to the roadside, where Watson's car stood waiting. Watson helped Mrs Hudson into the front seat, whilst Holmes got in the back. He then walked around to the driver's seat, and started the car. It was not often that Mrs Hudson got to ride in a car, and she felt a thrill as Watson tore through the country roads. She noticed, with not a little amusement, that Holmes had hold of the side of the car tightly, and looked about ready to leap at first sign of trouble. "Dear heavens, Watson!" he said, finally, "Do you not think you could slow down a little? I am sure Mrs Hudson…"

"I assure you, Mr Holmes," said Mrs Hudson, "I am quite at ease with the Doctor's driving…"

This earned a laugh from said doctor, and a glare from Holmes, which Mrs Hudson faced down with the aplomb of a woman who was old enough to be his mother, so don't you pull those faces at me. Holmes squirmed, causing the Doctor to laugh again.

They reached the picnic site within the hour, a small, empty field, atop a cliff, full of flowers and birds and the like. Her two ex-lodgers had treated Mrs Hudson to champagne, cake, sandwiches, strawberries…in fact the old lady felt quite overwhelmed. They sat and ate and talked for some time, until the sun set, and the two gentlemen toasted the lady. Mrs Hudson had been so convinced that she would spend this birthday alone, that she was quite emotional. "Thank you both, for such a lovely day."

"Mrs Hudson," said the doctor, kindly "You fed us for twenty years. The least we could do is remember you on a birthday when you had no one to celebrate with."

"But such expense."

"All worth it, Mrs Hudson," said the doctor, kindly.

"Well, thank you. This has been one of the best birthdays of my life, and I am grateful."

They sat there, all at the risk of embarrassing themselves by giving into a sentimental display. What would people think, to find two older men, and one very old lady sitting in a field, surrounded by food and weeping away like nobody's business? Honestly.

In the end, it was Mr Holmes who spoke first, his eyes turned to the red, purple and orange sunset over the sea. "My dear Mrs Hudson," he murmured, "As my florid friend here would say, that is what friends are for."

"And he calls me romantic!" murmured Watson, but he smiled genuinely, before holding up his glass in a toast to his two dearest friends. "To friendship."

"To friendship," echoed Mr Holmes.

Mrs Hudson surveyed the two before her - the two she still thought of as her employers…and realised, in that second, that really, from that first time they had made her laugh, or asked her to join them for a cup of tea, or given her a birthday present, or broken her crockery, they were much more than that. They were her friends. "To friendship," she said, her voice soft. And they all turned their eyes away, to watch the sun go down.

**Well, well. Hope you all liked this…especially VHunter07!**


End file.
